Indeed.

Meng Wanyu stood out brilliantly amidst the crowd.

Though not the female lead of the original story, she carried a queenly aura and a breathtaking beauty impossible to forget.

Even Su Qiaoman paled beside her.

Naturally, after being threatened and disciplined by Meng Wanyu multiple times, Su Qiaoman no longer dared approach her casually.

Right now, Meng Wanyu scanned the crowd for Lu Chengzhou.

How troublesome—he’d slipped away the moment she blinked.

“That idiot Lu Chengzhou… didn’t he promise to let me style him?” she muttered inwardly.

Little did she know Lu Chengzhou had spotted her first and vanished into the crowd.

Originally just an insignificant side character, standing beside Meng Wanyu would’ve made him the center of attention—exactly what Lu Chengzhou wanted to avoid.

He only wished to sip tea quietly and wait for the right moment to alter the plot.

But… judging by the scene unfolding, he might not need to lift a finger.

Qin Ke’s gaze never once lingered on Su Qiaoman.

The lecher stared fixedly at Meng Wanyu, eyes burning.

As the song ended, he stood decisively, mustered courage, and approached.

“Hello, miss, I am…”

“Get lost.”

Meng Wanyu didn’t even glance his way.

Truth was, she held no personal grudge—tonight alone, eight men had tried to hit on her!

She was utterly fed up with frogs dreaming of swans.

Sparing them even a smile felt like a loss.

“Get lost…?”

Qin Ke’s lips trembled, repeating the words.

Good grief. No one had ever dared say that to him.

This brat—clearly asking for trouble. Did she not plan to stay in Yi City?

“Hey! Stop right there!” he shouted as Meng Wanyu walked off.

She didn’t pause, strolling forward with effortless nonchalance.

Fuming at the blatant dismissal, Qin Ke waved to his hidden guards.

But before they stepped within a meter of Meng Wanyu, two burly men in black silently pinned them down and dragged them away—no words, no warning.

Qin Ke shuddered. His guards weren’t elite, but this? Too easy.

He’d met real hardcases tonight.

Sensing danger, he wisely retreated—only to feel a firm hand clamp his shoulder at the door.

He turned. Nearly jumped out of his skin.

A towering, dark-skinned man grinned.

“Hey, buddy. Let’s step outside and chat.”

…

Meng Wanyu had searched everywhere. No Lu Chengzhou.

Deflated, she sank into a corner seat, ordered champagne, and sipped slowly.

Her older sister sat opposite with only juice.

Her younger sister was underage—she’d drive her home.

“No drinking if you drive; no driving if you’ve drunk.”

“Sis, shouldn’t we head home?” her sister asked gently, noting Meng Wanyu’s disappointed expression.

Nearby, Lin Chen led Su Qiaoman around, toasting his buddies.

Su Qiaoman coughed after every tiny sip—clearly unused to alcohol.

Lin Chen either didn’t care or deliberately vented his frustration.

Su Qiaoman, as always, accepted it all without protest.

The Meng sisters looked down on such weakness.

Yet tonight, Meng Wanyu watched Su Qiaoman closely.

Reason? They’d worn the same dress.

But Meng Wanyu’s was authentic—exquisitely tailored, radiating sophistication.

“Let’s stay a bit longer. I want to see if the show begins,” Meng Wanyu murmured, swirling her glass.

Her intuition whispered: the real drama was just starting.

…

“I… I really can’t drink more, Brother Lin Chen,” Su Qiaoman pleaded, cheeks flushed from a full glass of champagne.

She genuinely looked overwhelmed.

Lin Chen narrowed his eyes, snorting coldly. “Everyone here is my brother. Refusing to drink disrespects them—and me. Trying to ruin my mood?”

Su Qiaoman’s face fell. She heard the spite. She had to endure it.

Just get through tonight, and he’d calm down.

“Brother Lin Chen… I’ll drink,” she whispered resignedly, head bowed.

A faint, shadowy glint flickered in her eyes.

She wouldn’t stay beneath others forever.

She’d remember this shame—and repay every one of them someday.

Her glass refilled. As she lifted it, a hand clamped her wrist.

Startled, she turned.

Not Lu Chengzhou—Qin Ke.

He froze too. From the dress and back, he’d mistaken her for Meng Wanyu!

Of all people to match outfits with—Meng Wanyu?!

Rage flared. He’d just been humiliated by her guards and wanted revenge.

Then it hit him: foolish. How could he get near Meng Wanyu? Earlier, he hadn’t even touched her sleeve before being dragged off!

“What’s this, Young Master Qin?” Lin Chen yanked Su Qiaoman away.

Seizing the moment, Su Qiaoman “accidentally” dropped her glass.

Clatter—

Shards scattered. Wine splashed.

The loud music masked the noise. Guests glanced once, then looked away.

“Misunderstanding! Total misunderstanding! I was looking for a Miss Meng—not you,” Qin Ke forced a laugh, stepping back.

But Lin Chen signaled his men to block the exit.

Touch his woman? Suicide.

He wouldn’t dare confront Meng Wanyu—but Qin Ke?

Honestly, the alcohol had blurred his judgment. Sober, he’d have remembered the Qin-Lin families’ longstanding ties.

As tension spiraled toward chaos, Lu Chengzhou could no longer watch.

He still had to fix this ridiculous plot.

“Stop!”

Lu Chengzhou strode between them, shielding Lin Chen and Su Qiaoman.

Qin Ke squinted. The others wore mixed expressions.

“Since it’s a misunderstanding, why fight? Uncivilized,” Lu Chengzhou said calmly. He flagged a passing cart, took two fresh glasses from the waiter, and handed one to each man.

“Tonight celebrates Young Master Lin’s birthday. Let’s bury the hatchet over a drink.”